Ravens on the Brink
by MyBetterHalf
Summary: Anthony Goldstein is not used to feeling so conflicted. He is decisive and methodical, and the situation seems pretty clear to most people. So why can't he let it go? A conversation with his grandmother clears up a few things.


**Ravens on the Brink**

For a moment the cloud on the horizon, with the sunset light hitting it at the edge (if a cloud had edges) looked like a deceptively quiet volcano. For a moment Anthony was transfixed, staring at the volcano, feeling the danger it was hiding, his pulse quickening, his body braced, ready to defend -

Birds suddenly obstructed his view, the wind shifted and the illusion was gone.

Anthony took a deep breath and carried on, down the hill towards home; a cottage at the edge of town, closest to the hills, with bright windows, a pineapple tree prominent in the yard, inappropriate for the English climate; it was charmed to look like an apple tree to the passing Muggle.

According to the Prophet, none of the officials at the ministry seemed concerned about what had happened the previous June - a tragic accident; it seemed to have unleashed Harry Potter's delusions of grandeur, but that was all there was to it. There was no point imagining volcanoes.

Anthony walked into the house, residual wariness fading faced with the warmth from the fireplace in the living room and from the kitchen.

"Anthony?" a rough voice called gently.

He took off his shoes and walked into the living room, his eyes immediately finding the source of the voice sitting on the sofa.

"Good morning, grandmother", Anthony said smiling.

His grandmother, Malka Goldstein, was sitting closest to the window where you could see the forest, her wide face smiling with a little more enthusiasm than he was used to from her in the morning.

"A letter arrived for you", she said holding out a letter, the Hogwarts emblem visible from where he was standing. He walked over and took the letter. He opened it, and, before he had a chance to read a word, a badge fell into his palm. A Prefect's badge. Anthony examined it, hiding his excitement, good practice for when he would tell Michael; he was a bit of a sore loser and would undoubtedly be less than thrilled by this development.

"Aren't you excited?", his grandmother asked, the pride and joy evident in her voice emphasizing her subtle Romanian accent, a gravelly, deep tone.

"A little", he said, allowing his smile to grow slightly before sobering up. "It's a big responsibility", he added. Malka nodded knowingly.

"You know Jonathan was also a Prefect. He wouldn't let himself get excited either. He simply nodded and went to his room to get his trunk ready for school. And it was a fortnight too early, too!"

Anthony laughed with his grandmother. He could clearly imagine his father, Jonathan, getting that anxious over the added responsibility. The previous evening they were playing Gobstones when Anthony's mother asked his father why he hadn't cleaned out the rogue doxy that had wandered into the attic the previous day. Jonathan immediately jumped up and tackled the task with seriousness worthy of the Hogwarts librarian.

Still chuckling, Anthony noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet in his grandmother's other hand.

"I thought you didn't like reading the Prophet", he said, pointing.

His grandmother looked at the newspaper. "I don't. The moving pictures make it harder to concentrate on the print. But Rachel suggested an article she thought I might enjoy. About a wizard who tried to hunt a Diricawl cutting down the tree where its nest was. He claimed he hadn't seen the bird".

Anthony frowned. It seemed improbable.

"They showed a photograph of the bird. Not exactly a wagtail." she said, facetiously. "By the way do you know who Harry Potter is?"

"Yes, why?" Anthony asked, startled.

"They concluded the article by saying it was 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter'. Is he a story-teller?", she asked, frowning.

Anthony shifted in his seat. "No, grandmother. He is a student at Hogwarts. He's in my year. They are just saying that because he's been saying things people don't like".

Anthony quieted. Saying it aloud, that people didn't like hearing you-know-who was back, that struck a nerve in him, made him uneasy.

His grandmother's frown deepened. "Why would they be bothered by something a 15-year-old is saying?"

Anthony sighed. "You know that in the 70's, a dark wizard was terrorizing Britain?"

"Of course", his grandmother said promptly. "He disappeared quite a few years ago"

"Yes. Harry is saying that he's back. That he's responsible for that boy dying in June", Anthony said, face blank.

His grandmother just looked back at him, reading his face. "Is he someone who tends to lie?"

Anthony didn't even have to think before responding. "No, not as far as I know. He's been involved in several incidents over the years, but, fantastic though they sounded, they always turned out to be true"

His grandmother grew silent and looked out the window. Anthony could hear her doubt growing and was not surprised at her next words.

"When you get back to school, you should talk to him. Hear what he has to say", she said, her voice grave.

"Grandmother, hardly anyone is really concerned over this. The Minister himself and the head of the Auror department said in the Prophet that it was an accident", but his grandmother's expression made him trail off, looking at her worried face. She was silent for a moment before leaning forward and holding Anthony's hand, her own hand somehow both soft and rough.

"Our community leaders in Bessarabia said we didn't need to worry", she said, her normally lively, fun voice soft and tired. Anthony was frozen, unable to speak, as was the case during the rare occasions she talked about her childhood.

"Don't rely on someone else's eyes", she said firmly, but patiently. "Keep your own eyes open. Judge the facts for yourself. You're more hard-working, intelligent and observant than anyone", she said the last part smiling. Her kind face a little softer.

"If things turn out badly, you won't get to say 'but they said'. There'd be no point to it", she sighed and patted his hands. Anthony looked down at her hands on his hands. At her arm and the dark number on it. He never asked his grandmother why she had not asked her wizard husband, Anthony's grandfather, to remove it.

On some level, he thought he knew why.

"Don't let anyone make a victim of you"

* * *

So when little Ginny Weasley came to tell Michael that Harry Potter was going to tell a few people his side of the story, Anthony knew that he was going to hear him.

Deliberate ignorance ill befitted a Ravenclaw, a Goldstein.

He was going to keep his eyes (his mind) open, read the signs.

Whatever happened, he was not going to be a victim.

* * *

Look at my profile for a website through which to donate to holocaust survivors.


End file.
